Chapter Text
The first thing Dean remembered was choking.
The lights were too bright to take in his surroundings. He could make out blurry, bright shapes of what seemed to be people rushing around him, flocking around the place where he lay. Something thick was blocking his airway; his instinct was to hack it up, but some small part of his brain told him to keep calm and keep breathing. Easier said than done.
Out of the corner of his bleary eyes, Dean could see someone injecting an IV with a clear liquid. An IV? he thought, his brain fairly hazy. Oh, hospital. Duh. His thoughts were cut short when the intense taste of saltwater filled his mouth, doing little to help the choking sensation. The taste subsided quickly, along with any coherent thoughts. He was slipping back into sleep. His eyelids fluttered closed, effectively blocking out his confusing surroundings.
“Dean?” a soft voice greeted him when he finally woke up.
Things were clearer this time when he came to. He blinked away the sleep as his eyes adjusted to the bright room. He was in a hospital, no doubt. If he didn’t know before, the smell of saline and chemicals tipped him off. He glanced around the room to find the person calling out to him. His eyes landed on a shaggy-haired kid who couldn’t be more than a few years younger than him. He was too young to be his doctor, but perhaps his RN.
“‘re you my nurse?” Dean asks, his throat aching dully. Now that he thought about it, his entire body hurt, including a headache like he’d never felt before.
Dean glanced back up at the guy to find his face a mixture of confusion and hurt. Was it something he said?
“Dean, what?” the guy breathed out in shock. “Dude, it’s Sam.”
Dean stared at the man, but nothing was coming to him. For the life of him, he couldn’t place where – or if – he had ever seen this puppy-eyed, long-limbed kid. His brain felt like it was coated in a thick fog and he was waiting for the sun to peek through the clouds to break up the confusion.
The kid was still waiting for a response. “I’m sorry, man. I really don’t know you. Maybe—”
“Oh, honey, you’re awake.”
Dean and the kid both turned to the doorway, where an older couple stood. The woman’s cheeks were tear-stained and she looked like she could use a good night’s sleep. Her yellow, corn-silk hair was knotted and haphazardly pulled away from her face in half a bun.
The man didn’t look much better. His salt-and-pepper beard needed a trim and his hair a wash. He had bags under his eyes and yesterday’s clothes on.
Who were these people?
The couple made their way over to Dean’s bed cautiously, like he was a scared child that they didn’t want to startle. The kindness in the woman’s eyes was confusing, but not unwelcome. Dean struggled not to flinch when her unfamiliar hand stroked his sweat-damp hair off his clammy forehead.
“How are you feeling, baby?” she asked softly, her voice an attempt to soothe him. In fact, it did the opposite; his heart rate spiked dramatically, making the machine he was hooked up to go crazy. He was trying, and failing, to keep his cool.
“Ma’am,” Dean started, his breath hitching on his own words, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are.”
Dean wanted to take the words back the second he saw tears well up in her sad eyes. She straightened up quickly, like she had been shocked with a live wire. He wanted to be her son just to wipe the despairing look off her devastated face. The man put two hands on her shoulders to soothe her as her tears began to roll down her cheeks.
“Dean,” the kid said again, taking a seat on the hospital bed, “I’m Sam. I’m your brother.”
They were simple enough words, but Dean couldn’t comprehend them. Brother? The word held no weight for him, no backstory. He tried to remember his… brother’s face, to put a memory to the word, but he was drawing a blank.
“I’m your brother,” the boy, Sam, continued, “and this is Mom and Dad.”
Dean shook his head. “No, no. My family, my parents, they’re, they’re…” Dean reached for names in the dark, but they slipped through his hands. Even if he did have another family, he couldn’t remember them, either.
Dean dug the heels of his palms into his closed eyes, hard enough to see stars. This could not be happening this could not be happening this could not be happen—
“Son, you were in a car accident,” the man, his dad, spoke for the first time. He felt a hand rest on his shin, but he didn’t look up. It was too overwhelming.
“What happened?” Dean asks, hands still pressed to his eyes as if it would bring back his memories.
“They’re saying that you must have hit the ice wrong,” his dad answered, his voice thick—with emotion? “You went over the barrier and rolled, right into a snow bank.”
Dean opened his eyes to see three anguished faces staring back at him. It took every ounce of willpower Dean had not to cry. These three people obviously cared for him deeply; their love radiated out of their very beings. It wasn’t hard to believe that they really were his family. He was blanketed with an affection that was foreign to him, and as much as he wanted to accept it and reciprocate it, he just couldn’t. His panic about his unknown past began to set in again, making his pulse go wild.
His mother patted his hand gently, careful of the IV poking into his vein. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll get a nurse so you can go back to sleep.” Her mouth twitched up into a smile, but he could tell she was just putting on a brave face for him. He nodded at her suggestion, realizing just how tired he was. Learning that you couldn’t remember your own family would do that to a person.
His mom pressed the ‘Call Nurse’ button above Dean’s bed. The four of them waited in a weighted silence until a nurse came with a fresh dose of sleep medicine. She quickly injected it into his IV bag; Dean's taste buds were assaulted with the familiar and overwhelming saltwater sensation.
“We’ll be here when you wake up,” his mom assured him quietly, patting his cheek gently. She pulled away and placed Dean’s hand back on the scratchy sheets. The three of them said their goodbyes and exited Dean’s room, Sam hitting the lights off on the way out.
Dean sat there in the darkness, the only light coming off the screens of the low-beeping machines that were tracking his vitals. He stared up at the corked ceiling, feeling the heavy muscle relaxer set in.
He was alone.
What felt like minutes later, Dean woke up to a hushed argument. He kept his eyes shut and focused on the whispered voices.
“– thought you said that when he’d wake up he’d be fine.”
“When we brought him in and got the swelling in his brain down, we thought he would make a full recovery.”
“And now?”
“It seems that Dean is suffering from Traumatic Amnesia caused by the impact to his head.”
“So what, is it treatable? Will he ever get his memories back?” Dean could tell Sam had asked the question, his voice cracking at the end. Dean was glad he had asked it, but was worried as he waited for the answer.
“In most cases, yes, the patient does recall his or her memories. It just happens in time. Sometimes it’s not every detail, but in Dean’s case, I would not be surprised if he made a full recovery.”
Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He would remember. The thought alone was a newfound comfort. He wished he had something else from his past to grasp onto, but for now, the thought of getting his memories back was enough.
“Thank you, doctor,” his dad said dismissively.
Dean opened his eyes to find his mom and Sam had both pulled up a chair next to his bed.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” she greeted, her eyes holding a new light in them that wasn’t there last night, “how are you feeling?”
Dean genuinely smiled at her for the first time since he woke up from the accident. “Sore, a little tired. Starving, actually.”
His mom giggled softly, her laugh like wind chimes. “John, sweetie, would you let a nurse know that he’s ready to eat?”
His dad, John, smiled at her and left the room.
Dean automatically looked to Sam to find that he was already looking at him. They shared a similar look of overprotective-mom-is-at-it-again-even-though-we’re-grown-men. Maybe Dean couldn’t remember Sam, but there was no doubt that they were brothers. Sam’s lips twitched up into a smile, looking much happier than he had last night.
“Did you talk to the doctor?” Dean asked his mom, keeping up with the charade that he had been asleep.
With a bright smile, she relayed what the doctor had told them about his condition and the possibility of him getting his memories back. Her excitement was enough to keep them all smiling. There was a small part of him that wanted to shy away and hide from these strangers, but he knew that, even if he didn’t remember them, they did have his best interest in mind.
John had come back quickly with some horrible hospital food; Dean was so hungry that he ate it all in mere minutes. The three of them sat around his bed, trying to jog his memory in any way they could—they told him stories of his childhood, showed him pictures that they had in their wallets, even put on his favorite show in the background. ("No way is Doctor Sexy MD my favorite show," Dean had insisted, "You've got to be kidding me...") It was as if his memories were on the periphery— able to see but just out of reach.
“Well, that’s okay, honey,” his mother, Mary, he had learned, had said after he apologized for failing to remember them. “I talked to one of the nurses, and she said that you’ll be able to remember more when you get back home.”
“Did they say when I could be discharged?”
“They want to keep you one more night, but tomorrow morning, you’re good to go,” Sam replied, typing something away on his phone.
“Is that the firm?” Mary asked Sam with concern.
“What, you’re a lawyer?” Dean asked, an odd sense of pride washing over him.
Sam smiled and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m a lawyer. ‘ve gotten your ass out of a lot of trouble, too.”
Dean’s eyebrows laced together, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. He knew that he probably wasn’t the most cautious guy, but legal charges?
“Really?” he had to ask, trying to hide his slight hysteria.
“No,” his mom assured him, shooting her younger son daggers. “He’s messing with you, sweetie.”
“Jerk,” Sam mumbled.
“Bitch.”
Sam’s eyes shot up from the ground to meet Dean’s. It was a knee-jerk reaction for Dean; he wasn’t really even sure why he had said it. Sam grinned widely, an unusual reaction to being called a bitch.
“Sorry, man,” Dean apologized.
“No, no, it’s fine. Um, it’s kinda our thing,” Sam explained, his smile growing wider with every word.
“Oh.” Dean wasn’t sure what this one little word meant for him, but he wanted it so badly to mean progress. “Well, in that case, I meant it.”
Sam laughed loudly, making Mary, John, and then Dean chime in. Mary smiled up at her husband, placing her hand over his where it rested on her shoulder.
“You know what, guys?” Dean said after their laughter had died down, “Why don’t you go home and get a good night’s sleep?” His mom started to protest before he cut her off. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be asleep the whole time, anyway. Go.”
Mary was wary, but eventually agreed. She and John gathered up their stuff to take home. Sam looked like he was torn and only agreed to leave when he assured Dean he would be back first thing in the morning.
Dean refused his sleeping meds that night, opting to fall asleep to late-night TV instead. As he drifted off, he could almost pretend that everything was going to be all right.
“Sam, I’m so sorry. I came as soon as I heard…”
Dead was roused awake by an achingly familiar voice.
“I mean, it’s going to be hard, but it’s Dean. I have to see him.”
“They’re something you should know, Y/N…”
Y/N? Y/N! Dean’s brain went off like a million sirens, screaming her name over and over.
“Y/N?” he croaked out, trying to wake up quickly and sit up to see her sooner.
She must have heard him, because she was peeking her head into his room seconds later.
It was what Dean was grasping for.
Old, nostalgic memories of him and Y/N flashed in his mind: moving into their townhouse, a picnic in the park, posing for cheesy prom photos, Chinese food on an old sofa, morning sex, getting ready together for work… Images with intense detail and vibrant colors popped up one after the other with every step she took towards him.
“Dean, hey. How are you feeling?”
Her manicured thumb reached out and wiped moisture off his cheek; he hadn’t even known that he was crying.
“Y/N, babygirl, it’s so good to see you.”
Her eyebrows pulled together in confusion, but she kept her gaze and smile steady. “Yeah, it’s good to see you too, Dean. I’m so glad you’re alright.”
“Why didn’t you come sooner?” he asked desperately. He didn’t even care how entirely needy he sounded. It was just so good to remember.
“Well, Jess just told me this morning. I came as soon as I heard...” she trailed off, tucking her chin to her chest with a flush on her cheeks. Dean noticed her outfit of sweatpants and a tight tee shirt from her favorite TV show: classic Y/N pajamas.
As if Dean could read her mind, he cut her off train of insecure thoughts.“You look beautiful,” Dean admired honestly.
Y/N shook her head and looked down at their hands; he had entwined them together as they spoke. The blush that tinted her freckled cheeks was his favorite color in the world.
Sam finally came into the room, pausing at what he saw.
“Um, Dean?” he started, confusion leaking into his voice, “Can I borrow Y/N for a sec?”
“Uh, yeah, sure, of course.”
Y/N quickly slipped her hands out of his and exited the room without a second glance. Sam threw him a sad glance; was he upset that he remembered his girlfriend and not his brother? He tried to feel guilty, but the elation he felt from remembering Y/N overpowered it.
Through the cracks in the blinds, Dean could see Y/N and Sam talking closely. He was straining to hear them without success.
Quietly, Dean got out of bed and grabbed the IV bag he was attached to, wheeling it over to the door.
“What do you mean, he doesn’t remember anyone?” Y/N cried, sniffling loudly. “He remembered me right away!”
He could hear Sam sigh deeply. “I don’t know, Y/N. The doc said he’d get his memories back; maybe he’s just remembering faster than we thought.”
“I mean, he obviously doesn’t remember everything…”
“You mean he…?”
“Yeah, he greeted me as if we were still together. As if we—” her sobs drowned out the rest of her sentence, but Dean’s blood had already run cold.
As if we were still together.
Almost robotically, Dean got back into bed and pulled his covers back up.
Moments later, Y/N and Sam were back, Y/N's face red and tear-stained. She pulled up a chair next to his bed as Sam leaned against the glass wall.
“Dean,” she started, holding his hand in hers gingerly. “I have to tell you something…”